The By-Blow
by augiesannie
Summary: Every so often, there was a moment when the world suddenly, shockingly, turned upside down, and you seemed to hang, suspended in time, waiting to see what turn your life might take next. Maria knew from the strain in his voice that something had changed, that their lives would never be the same again. AU and dark Georg. Please leave me a review!
1. Chapter 1

**The By-Blow**

 **Proboards prompts are the gift that keep on giving. A while back, we had a prompt where one character reveals a secret to another. I posted a fluffy little honeymoon piece in reply, and also a list of outrageous "I'm never going to write about** _ **this**_ **one** **" ideas. But I couldn't stop thinking about one of the "never" ideas. It became the topic of PM discussion with a friend…and the next thing I knew, out popped this story. If you don't like AU stories with a flawed Georg, this story might not be for you. For the rest of you, enjoy.**

Chapter One

Most days, time flowed like a lazy river, the seconds slipping by from morning until night, each barely indistinguishable from the ones that came just before and after. But every so often, there was a moment when the world suddenly, shockingly, turned upside down, and you seemed to hang, suspended in time, waiting to see what turn your life might take next.

Your life's journey could change course in less than a minute. That's what Maria had learned the day after her eighth birthday, when the priest came to school to tell her that, in the course of just a few hours, her mother had been killed in an accident, leaving her an orphan. Then there was her first glimpse of Nonnberg Abbey five years ago, when she'd peered over the wall and felt something shift within her as she watched the sun set on the courtyard as the sisters sang their way to Vespers. And of course, there was that unbearable moment last August, when she'd learned that the man she loved was marrying someone else, only to set the world right hours later when he asked her to become his wife. Maria didn't think she could survive another day like that.

And she wouldn't have to. As summer turned to fall, and fall to winter, the days slid by, each a bright bead of love and happiness on an unbroken string. There had been the wedding, six magical weeks in Paris, and now the quiet joy of settling into married life in the villa, punctuated by a warm family Christmas she could never even have dreamed of for herself a year before.

And then, one raw March morning, everything changed again, in just a matter of moments. To someone else, it might have sounded ordinary enough, the way he called out to her as she crossed the foyer: "Maria, can you come in here for a minute?" But she knew from the strain in his voice that something had changed, that their lives would never be the same again.

He was sitting behind his desk when she entered the study, staring at some papers that lay in front of him. A battered leather diary lay open nearby.

"What is it, Georg?" she asked. "It's the Nazis, isn't it?"

He shook his head. "No, not yet, anyway. Close the door, would you?" He looked up at her briefly, and his eyes were flat and dark. He looked like a stranger, she thought.

"Well, then, what has happened?" she asked uneasily.

He looked back down at the desk. After a long silence, he said, "This isn't going to be easy for me to tell you, Maria. I wish I could avoid it. Please try to remember that I do love you." He'd told her so many times before, of course, but this time, his manner was oddly distant.

"Y-yes, of course, Georg. What is it? You're frightening me! Are you ill?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm fine. What I have to tell you about is something that happened in Paris."

"Paris?" she puzzled. There were nothing but blissful memories there for Maria.

He rose, and began to pace the room, something she knew he did when he was uncomfortable and anxious. All she could do was wait it out, sit and watch him, and twist her hands nervously in her lap.

"Yes." he said. "You remember I told you that I'd had business there in the last few years."

"Yes, of course."

"In fact, the first time I left the children after Agathe died, it was to conduct some business in Paris. The French Navy. It had been only a few months, and looking back, it was probably too soon. I was in terrible shape, I've told you that before. I was…"

"Drinking, yes, I know," she said. "And you mustn't blame yourself, Georg, you showed great character turning things around the way you did."

He went on as if he hadn't heard her. "One evening, I went to the opera with some associates. We were invited backstage afterward to meet the cast. The star – she had a beautiful voice, I remember. Enormous dark eyes and a cloud of curly black hair. There was champagne in her dressing room, and then a group of us went to dinner with her, and a smaller group went on to a café, and those who were left after that went on to a bar or two, and by the end of the evening, it was just the two of us."

He fell silent. Maria's insides twisted into a knot. She knew what was coming next, and while she couldn't say she was surprised, she wondered why he had chosen to torture her with this story now.

He had stopped his pacing, and stood near the window to look out at the lake, where a stiff breeze ruffled the water, leaving the surface looking dangerous and forbidding. The mountains on the other side were shrouded in mist. At last, he picked up his story, the words as matter-of-fact as though he were reciting the train schedule.

"She spent the night with me. I don't remember any of the details, but when I woke the next morning, she was gone. She'd left a note – something about respecting my wishes, which I did not quite understand at the time, and thank you for a lovely evening, and so on. I did the right thing, of course, sent flowers, and tried to call her, but she avoided me. And honestly, I was relieved. I felt emptier than ever. It was nothing but a reminder that I would never find another woman like the one I'd lost."

For only a moment, a small, tender smile ghosted across his face, a welcome reminder that he loved Maria twice as much because he'd never dreamed of loving anyone again. "Anyway. It was shortly after that when I met Elsa. She made me stop drinking, and gradually drew me out of the worst of it."

"Georg." Her own voice sounded odd to her, high-pitched and childish. "Is it really necessary for you to tell me all about this now? I mean, what is the point…"

"The point. Yes." He couldn't even look her in the face. Instead, he continued to stare out at the lake.

"I am sorry to have to tell you this, Maria. There was a child."

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 **More soon, I promise. If you didn't know what the title of this story meant before you started reading, you do now (or you can look it up!). I don't own anything about TSOM, I just love it.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Maria tried to stand, but the floor seemed to shift beneath her feet and the walls spun around her dizzily. She wanted to run away from him and his awful confession, but he was the only solid thing she could find to hold on to, and so she let him guide her to the big leather couch. He sat down next to her, but he didn't touch her. He didn't offer a comforting caress or a word of reassurance.

"I'm all right," she said. "It – it was just a shock, that's all."

"You must-" he started, but she raised her hand to stop him.

"Why did you keep it from me?"

"I just learned about the boy myself. Not an hour ago, when the morning mail came. I've been sitting here, trying to decide what to do next. That is, I'm quite certain what needs to be done, but you will have a role to play in it."

Why did he sound like he was giving the orders for the day on one of his ships? "Georg. Please. Just tell me what you know. I need you to tell me everything."

"All right." He went over to the desk and brought the papers back over to where she sat. For one wild moment, she wished that it had all been a dream, that she was still the governess and they were having one of their conferences about the children's' lessons. Perhaps he was just going to show her a book list, or his ideas for a lesson plan, or-

"I had a letter from my Paris solicitor. Monsieur Lebel. It turns out that she-"

"Surely, she had a name," Maria interrupted. "Or did you forget that too, until this moment?"

His lips thinned, and he closed his eyes against the insult. "Aurora. Aurora Duchamps was her name. Or her stage name, anyway. It seems that she died in childbirth, nine months exactly after we met. The child is three years old now. He has been living with his grandmother, who died last month. She left instructions not to contact me. I must have – I gather that I made very clear to the daughter that night, that she could mean nothing to me. But as it turns out, Lebel's firm also has charge of the grandmother's affairs. He and the other solicitors felt that, under the circumstances, it was better to contact me."

"Circumstances?"

"There is said to be some distant family on the grandmother's side. In Germany, but you see, they are Jewish. No one has been able to locate them. One can only hope they fled the country. The child is in a French orphanage that wants him sent back to Germany, and of course if he's sent there, well…."

The words flew from her mouth before Maria had a chance to think. "Then there is no choice. You must bring him to Austria."

Georg relaxed a bit, as though the burden on him had lightened . "I reached the same conclusion."

She felt mean-hearted even asking the obvious question, but she had to know. "Georg. If you didn't know her well, then how do you know there weren't – er- other men?"

He stood and began to pace the room again. "You're correct. There is no proof that he's mine. I've gone back over my diary and the dates fit, but there could have been other men. There is another option, Maria. I do not have to acknowledge him. I could bring him here and find him a foster family."

She felt her face flush. "And if we have to leave Austria, will you leave a little boy behind for the Germans to deal with? In case you've forgotten, Georg, I was an orphan. _Am_ an orphan. I'm not depriving any child of a home and family to call his own. It's not his fault, anyway. "

"Well, it's not entirely mine either," he said defensively. "But I'm not going to shirk my responsibility. I'll do what I can, of course, to make it up to you."

She shook her head wearily. "I can't think about that right now. I won't think about it. Let's just do what we have to do. What happens now?"

He returned to the desk and pulled out the telephone book. "I'll go to Paris and get him. It may take some time once I'm there for the legal formalities. You'll have time to prepare."

"A three-year old," she said, weakly. "It's not like the older ones, is it. I mean, he'll need a lot of help. More work for Frau Schmidt. Less time for the other children."

He cut her off. "That is an easy enough problem to solve, if the extra work is your concern, Maria. We'll arrange for a nanny."

"That will not be necessary, Georg," she snapped. He was making her sound selfish, caring only for the hard work this newest child would mean for the household. As though that were her greatest concern. And anyway, she was no stranger to hard work!

"Maria," he said impatiently. " No mother can care for eight children on her own, especially with one this young. We always had a nanny. After Agathe died, it became difficult, the nanny and the governesses at each other's throats, but before that, Agathe used to say that-"

Maria thought that if he brought Agathe up again, she'd lose her temper and ask him how the sainted first Baroness would have dealt with the arrival of an illegitimate sibling. So she cut him off: "I've cared for plenty of young children, Georg, and it will be good for the girls to help me. And speaking of the children. What are you going to tell them?"

He closed his eyes. "The children. Of course." He ran his hand over his eyes, and she felt a flicker of resentment; here she was, holding herself together, while he alternated between defensiveness and self-pity? It was all happening so fast, before she had time to think, to get control of her racing thoughts. She felt a little bubble of anger rise to the surface.

"Well," she said brusquely, you'll have to level with Liesl. And Friedrich. Speaking of showing him how to be a man- "

Georg shot her a venomous look.

"And Louisa," Maria added, relentlessly.

"Louisa?" he said unbelieving.

"Yes. Louisa. You ought to talk to the three of them together. They 're old enough to figure out your part in it. The younger ones you can tell separately. They won't understand the details," she paused and then, half enjoying twisting the knife, "at least not right now, although they will someday."

He turned and left the room, and who could blame him, Maria thought, for trying to escape before her wicked temper flared any farther?

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The rest of the day crept by so slowly that it could have been a year. Maria tried to keep herself busy with the everyday details of life: homework and menus and correspondence, mending and clean shirts for Georg's trip. But no matter how hard she tried to avoid it, her mind's voice kept up the clamor: her husband had bedded a woman he barely knew, leaving an orphaned child behind. And now Maria would be raising that child instead.

She sat quietly by, eyes on her lap, as Georg took on the unpleasant duty of explaining the situation to Franz and Frau Schmidt, knowing that no matter how the news was delivered to the staff, it would be embroidered with ugly gossip.

And then, after dinner, came the hardest task of all: telling the children, the younger ones first and then the older three. The little ones seemed remarkably unconcerned and the older ones seemed stunned, more than anything else, but Maria could see the wheels turning, and the furtive glances they exchanged as they filed out of Georg's study. Liesl paused in the doorway and turned back, her eyes narrowed, and asked, "Father. How old did you say he was?"

"Liesl-" Maria started, but Georg interrupted.

"Three. Three, Liesl. You're old enough to figure the rest out, and I will forgive you for even thinking to ask."

Later, after Maria left the older ones reading in their rooms, she sought him out in the study. He was slumped in the big leather chair by the fireplace, his nose buried in a brandy snifter, staring into the flames.

"Well!" she said tentatively. "I thought it all went fairly well. Considering."

Silence.

"Georg? You ought to get a good night's sleep for your trip. Is there anything you need?"

Without looking away from the fireplace, he shook his head. "No. To tell you the truth, I'd rather be alone, if you wouldn't mind. Go to bed, Maria."

Maria tried not to let her hurt and anger show. Now that the shock had worn off, she was feeling the tiniest bit regretful about having been so sharp with him earlier. And in return, she wanted his remorse, his apologies for turning their lives upside down. She wanted praise for agreeing to take the child in, even though there was no choice but to do so. She tried to tell herself that whatever she was experiencing, it must be much worse for him. But she couldn't help feeling sorry for herself when, for the first time since her wedding night, she went to bed alone.

She lay awake for an hour in the massive, ornately carved four-poster bed. "It's an heirloom," he'd teased her the night they'd returned from their honeymoon. "Generations of von Trapps were conceived in this bed. I hope you're planning to help me sustain its reputation." Funny. He'd never said anything about that again, she thought. Maria lay dry-eyed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for tears that never came until finally, she fell asleep.

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She didn't know how long she'd slept when she felt him slide into bed alongside her and take her into his arms. Half asleep, she relaxed into his embrace and the warmth of his kiss on her throat, before the memory of the day's events returned.

Twisting away from him, she hissed, "what are you doing?"

"I'm kissing my wife. I thought that-"

"Well, you were mistaken, Georg. If you think I want to be with you that way? Think again. Because _I_ certainly don't think-"

"You don't have to _think_ about it," he mumbled, reaching for the hem of her nightgown. "Just…"

"Georg! " She yanked her nightgown out of his hands. "As though today was just another blissful day at the villa von Trapp?" she fumed. " I can't imagine how I will _ever_ be able to – to- without thinking of her. Of _you_ and her."

He took her by the shoulders, just short of roughly. "What's the matter, Fraulein?" he bit out. "Are you afraid of me? Don't be. I don't kill all of the women I take to bed. Only some of them."

She could smell the brandy on his breath. "Are you drunk?"

A sharp bark of mirthless laughter. "No, my sheltered, innocent wife. I am not drunk. Not quite. But I _am_ unspeakably vile. Cursed, even. I behaved abominably and a woman died as a result. I'm doing what I can do to make it right, for God's sake. Can't you show me any compassion at all? I need your help. Ineed _you_. After I bring the child back, things will be in an uproar around here, and I would like to have one last night-"

Maria couldn't restrain herself any longer. "You lied to me."

He threw himself out of the bed and began pacing the room. His disheveled hair and burning blue eyes made a strange contrast with his cold, disdainful retort. He didn't sound the least bit regretful, not about any of it. "I did no such thing. I don't deny it: I behaved badly to start with. But I never told you-"

"I asked you if you had been with your – your Baroness Schrader. You told me you hadn't been with _anyone_ , not since you were widowed. What else did you lie to me about?"

"Nothing, Maria. I barely remembered the incident myself. And even if I had, I would have been far too ashamed to tell you about it. I thought I'd put all of that in the past."

"And here I felt sorry for you. The bereaved loving husband, hardly able to bear his grief. Not someone who couldn't control himself, couldn't…"

"That is not fair, and you know it. It _was_ a long time ago. I was not a married man at the time, after all. And not by choice, I might add. God's will, I suppose you'd have told me, " he snapped. "It's not like I asked to find myself in such a wretched situation. And it's not like I forced her into anything."

"I thought you said you didn't remember anything about it," she interrupted.

He glared at her. "I never forced _anyone_. They were always more than willing, believe me."

Maria gasped. Who was this man? She barely recognized him, and the more he said, the worse he made it.

"You know perfectly well that I was with other women before I was married. As I recall, you found it rather amusing, in fact. Even stimulating," he finished spitefully.

"Yes, Georg, but I didn't have to have living proof of it under my roof. I didn't think I'd have to worry about it."

"What does that mean?"

"You're going back to Paris to get him. Tomorrow. Alone. Am I supposed to lie awake here in Salzburg, worrying and wondering what you are doing? Who you are with?" She knew as soon as she said it that her accusation was unfair and undeserved, but she was too stubborn to admit it. Why, in the middle of her shattered happiness, should she be the one to ask forgiveness?

"That is quite enough," he spat. "I came to you tonight because I needed comfort, Maria. Relief from this debacle, even for an hour or two. You're my wife, for God's sake." He advanced purposefully toward the bed.

Her mouth went dry. "Georg. Please, no." Then anger pushed her fear aside, and her next words flew from her mouth before she had a chance to regret them. "Is this what you were like when you came to her? Aurora Duchamps?"

He stopped his advance abruptly and turned his icy blue gaze on her. "I had hoped for better from you."

"And I from you," Maria said quietly. "I can't. I can't give you what you're asking for."

The fight drained from him in a matter of moments. His shoulders sagged in defeat and he didn't take his eyes from the floor. "I suppose deserve that." he whispered. And with that, he slunk from the bedroom, back to the study. And, no doubt, his brandy bottle.

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 **I don't own anything about TSOM. Thanks for the reviews, follows and favorites. Stick with me here!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Maria lay awake for the rest of the night, long enough to hear Georg return and move quietly around the room as he dressed and gathered his things. She burrowed deeper into the covers and feigned sleep until she knew he had departed for Paris. Only then did she manage an hour of troubled sleep before dragging herself out of bed, wanting to keep things as normal as possible for the children.

It was another harsh, gray day, and to make things worse, she was immediately confronted with more bad news: another month gone, time to start counting the days again. Would it even matter anymore? She didn't get the customary monthly luxury of a few disappointed tears before Brigitta knocked on the bathroom door and announced that Marta had wet the bed again – and no wonder, the girl was so easily upset by any upheaval, even happy ones like her father's wedding. What would the arrival of another younger sibling do? There was a long road ahead for all of them, Maria realized.

"No, Brigitta, don't bother Frau Schmidt. I'll be there in a moment. Just let me wash up a bit." Gazing at herself in the mirror – pale and hollow-eyed – Maria had the momentary impulse to cut her hair. She'd been trying to grow it out for him, but now taking care of it would be one more task in a busier life. It would take something more than nail scissors, she supposed, looking around the bathroom wildly, but then she was distracted by Kurt knocking on the door to complain that he'd lost his Latin book, and forgot all about her hair.

There was an envelope by her plate at breakfast, and her heart leapt when she saw the familiar handwriting on the outside. But the contents were disappointingly prosaic:

 _M:_

 _I'll be gone for at least a week or two. Possibly longer. Since we know that neither mail nor telegrams are private anymore – and Max suspects the same about telephone calls – don't expect to hear from me unless there's an emergency. I'll be at the Hotel Manon if you have urgent need of me._

 _G._

And that was it. No apology. No remorse. Not even a fond salutation. At least, though, he hadn't chosen to go back to the hotel where they'd been together so happily only six months earlier.

As soon as the children were packed off to school, she sat down to make a list of the things that needed to be done. The child would need clothes and toys. He was probably too young to sleep with his older brothers, but there was a small nursery off the master bedroom, long closed up, that was dusty and rundown, a relic of the chaos that reigned in the household during Gretl's first two years.

It had taken Maria weeks – beginning with the first days of their engagement – to learn how to rely on Frau Schmidt and the staff . But she couldn't bring herself to ask them to prepare for the child's arrival. It was humiliating enough to imagine the whispered conversations going on in the kitchen and the servants' quarters, and she couldn't bear the curious and even pitying looks sent her way when she went to speak to the housekeeper about dinner.

So as the first week went by, Maria kept to herself as much as possible when the children were at school, trying to have one of the littlest girls along for protection against unwanted questions and inquisitive glances whenever she needed to speak with the staff. She spent the better part of her time unearthing some suitable boys' clothing and a few toys from the attic, and setting up the nursery. She focused grimly on the tasks at hand, throwing herself into scrubbing floors, painting, reattaching buttons and sewing curtains so industriously that it would have shocked Sister Berthe. She even hauled an old camping cot down from the attic and set it up for the boy's bed.

It helped to stay busy, since if Maria thought about things too much , the images would crowd her mind – images of Georg and his opera singer. The thought of someone else underneath him, the scrape of his cheek against her soft skin, his hoarse whisper in her ear, the heat of his mouth – was unbearable.

As the second week of Georg's absence dragged on, there were new challenges to face. The younger children, having responded to their father's announcement so matter-of-factly, suddenly awakened from their nonchalance. And they had questions about their new brother:

"Who was his real mother?"

"Does our mother in heaven know about him?"

"Are you going to tell Reverend Mother about our new brother?"

"Where do babies come from, anyway?"

And – worst of all – "Isn't it nice, Mother, that we are _finally_ getting a new brother?"

But it was even worse with the older children. For the first week, they simply sent sympathetic looks her way and spoke to her gently, as though she were a sick child deserving of pity. But as one week turned to two and then three, they also opened up, asking many of the same questions Maria was asking herself.

Liesl was the first. The girl had sought her out after school one day, and it was clear, from the way she followed Maria from room to room, that she had something to say, but she wasn't saying it.

"Liesl. Was there something you wanted?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean, well, Mother…" Liesl trailed off.

"Yes?"

The words burst out of the girl's mouth. "How could he, Mother. How _could_ he? Just– _go_ with some woman that way? It's a sin, what Father did, isn't it?"

Maria sighed, deeply. "Liesl. What he did, it is a sin, yes. To – er - be with a woman he wasn't married to. But we are all sinners, are we not? Your father is very ashamed and regretful. He is trying to make it right."

"How will you bear it, Mother? What are you going to say to the neighbors? To our friends? People will say…"

"People will always talk, Liesl," Maria said evenly. "No doubt those are the same people who had plenty to talk about when your father married me, and we chose to ignore them because we knew there was nothing to be ashamed of, isn't that right? That approach worked fine before, and it will work fine for us now."

"But that was different. This time there _is_ something for Father to be ashamed of. You are always telling me to be careful about _kissing_ , for heaven's sake, but you are saying that for Father, the rules are different?"

"Liesl!" Maria said sharply. "You are a young girl and he was a grown man. He was out of his mind with grief for your mother. And anyway, it is not the same for girls as it is for boys. It may not seem fair but that's the way it is. And she – the boy's mother - certainly paid the price. As for sinning, well, I'm going to leave that to your father to work out with God," she said firmly, knowing perfectly well that Georg would do no such thing.

A few days later, it was Louisa who followed her from room to room before finally cornering Maria in the nursery.

"Mother. I'm curious about something. Something I've always wanted to ask you."

"Yes, Louisa?"

"Last summer. After the big party. You ran away, and then you came back, but you never told us where you went. I mean, we found out right away that you and Father were getting married, and you never said another word about having run away. You didn't even say you were sorry."

"Why," Maria paused. "I suppose you're right, Louisa. I should have apologized, for causing all of you needless worry. But there's no big mystery about it. That night, at the party? I realized I had begun to have feelings for your father. I really did think it was God's will that I become a nun, and I was frightened and confused. I went back to the Abbey. But then I came back, you know, to see how he felt about things, and it turned out he felt the same way, and you know the rest."

But Louisa had more questions.

"Mother? About Father. And the woman who had the baby. Are you…"

"Am I what, Louisa?" Maria asked, sighing despite herself.

"Are you sorry you married Father? It was such a beautiful wedding, and now look at what's happened!"

"Of course not, Louisa. People don't get married for the white dress and the veil and the flowers. They get married because they love each other. Your father made a mistake. It was a long time ago. And one mistake doesn't make you stop loving someone. Love means forgiving a hundred mistakes. A thousand. A million. Look at the number of times you and I have gone at it. Does that mean you don't love me?"

"No, " the girl admitted. "I'm just afraid that you, well, you know. Might leave. Again."

"I'm not going anywhere," Maria said firmly. "I'm your mother now. For life. And I love you, darling. I'm awfully mixed up about it myself, Louisa. But I promise you we will find a way through it."

Maria wished she felt as confident as she'd tried to sound. Day after day, she had to act unconcerned, making an effort to convince the children that everything would be all right. Still, her mood sunk lower and lower. Her feelings swung wildly between anger, humiliation and loss. A half-dozen times, she began to take a scissors to the golden petals of hair that surrounded her face. She lost weight until the hollows of her cheeks and eyes prompted Frau Schmidt to ply her with sweets and rich food, but she couldn't eat. And through it all, she could not bring herself to cry.

The nights were even worse. She was on her knees for hours, asking God to help her reason things out. She knew with her whole heart how much Georg loved her. And of course she'd known that he had been with other women, but that had been decades before. That he had behaved so irresponsibly less than five years ago left her disappointed and disillusioned.

On the other hand, Maria told herself, Aurora Duchamps had not given Georg a chance to redeem himself when she found herself with child; certainly he would have done right by the woman if he'd known. And he was trying to do so now, taking the child in to raise as his own, even without proof that he was the father. The unwavering integrity with which Georg had acted softened her heart. He hadn't suggested, not even for a minute, that they fabricate some kind of cover story to explain the child's presence.

Frequently, Maria's thoughts went to places that got her off her knees rather quickly, not being sure that all of her thoughts were proper for prayer. For example, why did it upset her so much, that he had taken Aurora Duchamps into his bed? It was no secret, how Georg had behaved in his youth: and it was true what he'd said. She _had_ often teased him about how she was reaping the benefits, how lucky she was to have married a tender and creative lover who knew a million ways to bring her pleasure. And he'd teased her back, accusing her of living vicariously through him: she'd gone right from the Abbey to marriage, without a chance to experiment with wicked behavior, and now she never would, so his adventures must become hers as well.

She'd had it all figured out, or so she thought: there were the Others, but they were from long ago, before he'd become a devoted husband and father. As his wife, Maria had stood apart from them, in a charmed circle. Not alone, of course, but she shared the circle with Agathe von Trapp, whose company she treasured because, after all, she'd given birth to the children, and Georg had loved her dearly. But where did Aurora Duchamps stand? Within the charmed circle, because she had given Georg a son? Or outside?

One night, during his third week away, she dreamed that they were back in Paris again. But it wasn't the kind of dream where something unusual happened. It was simply the two of them, back in their hotel room in Paris: the lamp glowing at their bedside, the cool evening breeze, his warm skin against hers, his rough whisper and gentle touch. How disappointed she was when the dream slipped away, as dreams do, and she woke to find herself in Salzburg, in the enormous and ornate four-poster bed, alone.

She thought back on the terrifying night when he'd come to her before leaving for Paris. But now, in place of fear and fury, she felt only loneliness, a void where his solid, comforting presence had been. She slipped out of bed and wandered around the room where they had spent so many nights together.

"I know everything about you now," she had teased him their last night together in Paris. But, as it turned out, she hadn't. Could she forgive him for that? Her Captain who never wavered, never stumbled…

But that wasn't true, Maria thought, pacing the room wildly. Look at the mess he had made of things with the children when she'd first come to the villa! Why, she thought to herself, if she hadn't come along, who knows what might have happened to them, packed off to boarding school and their father unhappily married to Elsa Schrader.

After that fairy-tale night in the gazebo, Maria was so relieved to have found her path in life. She had found herself a strong, brave hero to protect her at last, someone she hardly believed could want her. She'd started to think of him as perfect – the way he'd appeared waiting for her at the altar, so handsome in his uniform he hardly seemed real. But he'd never been perfect. Not really. No one was.

Maria found herself standing in the tiny refurbished nursery. Curling up on the small cot she'd set up there, her thoughts went back to their wedding night, when she'd let her stubborn pride and wicked temper turn a small embarrassment into a disaster. The worldly poise she affected all the way to Paris had evaporated within hours of their arrival, revealing the truth: when it came to love between men and women, she had no idea what to expect. Overwhelmed and humiliated, she couldn't bear to admit to the muddle she found herself in, and lashed out instead.

"Why didn't you warn me about what was going to happen? About what it would be like? This was _horrible_! Now our honeymoon is ruined, " she had raged like a spoiled child.

In the face of her accusations, he had only patience to offer in return. "I did ask you, Maria. Knowing that you had no mother or sisters. I'd have talked to you myself, if I'd known. But you assured me you knew everything you need to know. I should have known better, but I see now that when you put on that brash confidence – that's when you're the most scared. Isn't that right?"

She'd had no words in reply. All she could think was that never had another human being loved her enough to know her so well.

"And Maria, darling. It doesn't matter. This is one night. We are going to be together every night, for years and years and I promise you, it is going to be fine. Better than fine. Marvelous."

And then, patiently, tenderly, as the hours and days went by, he had won her over. She hated having to depend on him all day long – during their six weeks in Paris, she could hardly ask for a glass of water or read a newspaper without his help – but it was at night that she learned to trust him and, ultimately, to become truly confident in herself as a wife. As a woman.

I didn't like it, she recalled, feeling so exposed and foolish, like a stupid child. I didn't make it easy on him, but he didn't give up on me. And now _he_ is depending on _me_ , Maria realized. And he knows it. He tried to tell me that, in his own appalling way. He reacted to the news of his son the way he'd reacted to losing his wife: with anger and detachment. By seeking comfort in a woman's arms. He was only human, and for the second time in a year, he'd made a horrible mistake and was trying to set things right. His children had forgiven him the first time. Could she do the same?

The weight on her heart didn't lift overnight, but as three weeks without Georg turned to four and four to six, Maria felt that her life's journey was somehow underway again. For one thing, it was impossible not to feel spring's promise warm her heart. The evenings grew longer, and after dinner she walked out with Marta and Gretl, pointing out the first signs of hope, green tadpoles, daffodils poking their heads above ground, soft pink blossoms fuzzing the trees. Steeling herself against the sidelong looks and whispers, she returned to daily interactions with the staff. One afternoon, she left the children in Frau Schmidt's care and spent the day, by herself, climbing the Untersberg. And Maria learned to sleep through the night again, too. Tucked into the narrow cot in the nursery, she could pretend she was back in the Abbey, sleeping the undisturbed sleep of a girl with an unblemished heart.

Six weeks had passed without word from Georg, and she found herself worrying about his long absence and wondering about the child. Had they run into some kind of difficulties in Paris? But surely Georg would have been in touch if it were something serious.

Through it all, Maria still had not been able to cry. She thought back to the day she'd returned from the Abbey to find out he was engaged to Elsa Schrader. She'd cried enough tears that late afternoon to last a lifetime, she thought. Perhaps she had no tears left to cry for her Captain. Things would never be the same for them, she saw that. Her illusions about Georg were shattered, and once again, he was only the very human man she'd argued with that day by the lake, almost a year ago. But what she told Louisa was true: when you love someone with all your heart, it doesn't just go away. None of their mistakes could change that.

It was early May when he returned at last.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **I don't own anything about TSOM. Thanks to my reviewers, followers and favorieters for the feedback and yes, please, leave me a review. I'm glad you are enjoying this not-run-of-the-mill story and I'm really interested in what you think. For a change of pace, visit the latest chapters from HatOff's story, Now When I Want You. It's a collaboration between me and lemacd and it's fun and sweet and light. Unlike this.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"He's home!" She could hear Friedrich shouting from the foyer downstairs. Maria took off her dusty apron and smoothed her hair. She could feel her heart thump against her ribs: was she more nervous about meeting her new son, she wondered, or seeing her husband again?

She paused on the upstairs balcony to compose herself, looking down on the in the foyer below.

There was no sign of any small child; all she saw at first was Gretl was hanging onto her father's arm, while he gave Kurt an affectionate swat and asked, "Where is your mother?" His eyes followed the boy's glance upward, to where Maria stood. Georg gave a little shrug - that sweet gesture she knew so well! - and nodded toward the front door.

Just inside the door, on the landing, stood a tall, thin, woman in a severe black dress. She was clutching a wiry, black-hair toddler who squirmed in her arms, and her face wore a pinched look of disapproval as she shrank away from the other five children who surrounded her and pelted her with questions:

"What's his name?"

"Why can't he get down?"

"Are you his governess?"

"Does he speak German?"

As though she was in a dream, Maria made her way the rest of the way downstairs to where Georg stood. It seemed like they were both too tentative and awkward to say anything to each other, let alone touch, so she let the noisy uproar fill the space between them until she heard, for the first time, a child wailing above the general confusion.

At last, Maria found her voice. "Who is that woman?"

Georg rolled his eyes. "Madame Robert. The orphanage insisted that she accompany me. They thought I was not sufficiently experienced with children, if you can believe it."

His injured air made her laugh – perhaps the first time she'd laughed since that shocking afternoon six weeks ago. "I _was_ wondering how you were going to manage a toddler on an eight-hour train ride."

He shook his head. "You can laugh all you want. She's so fiercely attached to him, I'm not sure we're going to be able to get her on the train back to Paris tomorrow. Now. Shall we?"

Georg turned on his heel and Maria followed him through the clump of excited children and up the stairs to where the woman stood. The squawking boy was wriggling so energetically that it was hard to make out his features. All Maria could see were great masses of soft coal-black curls. She felt like she could hardly breathe, but she swallowed back her nerves and spoke to the woman. "Can you let him down, please? He's had a long trip, and I'm sure…"

The woman spat out a few sentences in French and tightened her grip on the boy, who squirmed even more energetically and turned up the volume on his cries. Georg spoke sharply to the woman, who shot him a poisonous look and reluctantly let the boy slide to the floor.

Instantly, his wailing silenced. He looked upward at the adults who towered all around him, and then, placing a steadying hand on Georg's leg, he gravely informed Maria, "C'est Papa."

Her heart stuck in her throat. Those eyes. Narrow, with thick lashes, the dark navy of a stormy sea. His silky curls and dark skin came from his mother, she supposed, but she'd have known those eyes anywhere. She looked to Georg, who nodded in wordless agreement, and then he crouched down by the boy. Pointing at Maria, Georg said gently,

"C'est Maman."

"Y-you," she said shakily. "You never told us his name."

"Etienne," he answered. "We can call him Stefan. My father's name, as it happens," he said lightly, but she thought she heard his voice catch.

At the sound of his name, the boy looked up again, a smile breaking across his dirty, tear-stained face.

And just like that, Maria's world turned upside down again. She hadn't expected it to happen so fast. This child had had an even rougher start in life than she had. He would never know the face or the voice of the woman who had given him life. But Maria could make sure he knew a mother's love from now on. He wasn't going to wait twenty years for a family of his own, the way she had.

"He's too thin," she blurted.

"I'll take him to Doctor Strauss in the morning," Georg said, "I'm sure it's just a matter of-"

"No, I'll take him," Maria interrupted. "I'll do it. I'm his mother, after all."

Georg cleared his throat. "Maria. I'll explain to Madam about dinner and the arrangements for her return to Paris, and then I'm going upstairs to unpack. If you wouldn't mind asking Frau Schmidt to make Madam Robert comfortable?"

"What about Stefan?" she asked, unable to tear her eyes away from the boy.

"Let his brothers and sisters show him around. Go on, you lot," he said to the older children. "Take him to the kitchen and feed him cookies. As many as he likes. Your mother wants to fatten him up, and it will make him yours for life."

"But Father," pointed out Brigitta, "he won't be able to understand us, and we can't understand him!"

Georg laughed; there was a familiar lightness, an ease about him that Maria had forgotten after their last night together.

"If you speak German to him, Brigitta, he'll be fluent in a week. I promise you." And with that, he spoke to Madame Robert briefly, bowed politely to both of them, and disappeared up the stairs, without another word to Maria.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Maria was exhausted. Stefan had kept them entertained throughout the dinner hour, until even Madame Robert cracked a smile. But after dinner, Georg had sent her upstairs, saying that she deserved shore leave after six weeks alone with the children. "Let Madame have one last night with the love of her life, and let the others see to themselves." She'd followed his instructions, assuming that he'd join her, but now two hours had passed and there was no sign of him.

He hadn't actually said he would come to her, though. They hadn't exchanged more than a few words, let alone touch each other. He'd barely held her gaze for more than a moment. Was he still bitter? Since his return earlier in the day, he seemed at peace, the man he'd been before that awful day six weeks ago. She tried to hold onto the fragile serenity she'd worked so hard to develop. But what of the angry words that had passed between them? And how would their lives change with this new little stranger in their midst? She wasn't going to be able to fall asleep until she knew where things stood with Georg.

The house was quiet as the hour grew late. Maria thought of going to search for him, but she wasn't anxious to confront him where the servants might hear. Instead, she read a chapter or two of her latest novel and took a long, hot shower. Still no Georg. He must have gone off to sleep elsewhere once again, she thought, her heart sinking. Stefan had a home, it seemed, but his parents were lost to each other.

She was sitting at the vanity, pulling a comb through her wet, thickly tangled hair, when she heard the door open and close again. Behind her, the room lay in shadows, and there was only the sound of his footsteps until she could see his face reflected in the mirror, as he leaned against the carved bedpost.

"You know," he said, as though picking up in the middle of a conversation, "I almost had this bed taken away."

"I thought it was a precious family heirloom," she smiled, and then realized what he might be trying to tell her. "After she died, you mean?" Maria asked. "It was too sad for you, I suppose."

"No, no. Actually, it was a comfort, sleeping here, after she was gone. No, I mean after I knew I was going to marry you. I thought you wouldn't want to sleep in another woman's bed. I was going to have it taken apart and put in the attic. I thought one of the children would take it someday. Somehow, I never got around to it, and now it turns out you aren't sleeping here anyway."

She blinked. "How did you know?"

"When I came up to unpack. I discovered your little nest in there." He nodded toward the nursery. Before she could say anything, Georg extended his hand. "Give it to me," he said. "The comb. I'll be gentle. It's my fault, anyhow, I'm the one who made you grow it out."

She handed the comb to him and watched him in the mirror as stood behind her and bent to his task, his face intent, his fingers gentle as he worked out the tangles. She had always loved this ritual before, but now she found it impossible to relax. The air between them still seemed tense until, at last, he cleared his throat.

"Maria. I owe you an apology. Not only for this whole mess, but for the way I behaved that day. And that night. It's not the first time I've made a mess of things, and it's probably not the last, but this time the consequences-"

"Georg." The words came tumbling out of her mouth as though she'd rehearsed them, when in fact she hadn't known until this moment what to say to him. "You will have to make your peace with God. And Aurora Duchamps. But now that you've said your piece, no more apologizing to me. It was a shock to both of us. We both said things we didn't mean, and you've done more than most men in your situation would do to make things right. Now that Stefan is here, things will change, of course. It won't be the same any more, not for any of us. I've made my peace with that, and I hope you can too. Everything will be just fine."

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For agreeing to take him in." In the mirror, his face looked thoughtful and a little sad. He looked in need of comfort, and how she longed for comfort as well! She needed him to reassure her that while everything had changed, the most important things had not.

But he didn't. Instead, he put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him, and then crouched so he was at eye level. "There's one other thing you need to know."

Maria swallowed, waiting for some new revelation. "What is it?"

"You say that things will never be the same. I don't blame you, Maria. Things will be different between us. I accept that. But I want you to know. " His eyes burned bright in his flushed face as he paused and took a deep breath. "There will never be anyone else for me. _Never._ You will always be the one. The _only_ one."

He stood abruptly and strode toward the door.

"Georg! Wait! What do you – what are you saying?"

"You know what I mean." He didn't turn to look at her. "You said it yourself. We can't go back to the way things were before. I let you down. While it happened long before we met, it's true: in the end I was no better a man with Aurora than I'd been twenty years earlier."

"But that's not true! I don't want a- a better man. I mean, you _are_ a better man. I want you!"

She saw his shoulders tense, but he still wouldn't look at her. "For now, it's better for us to be apart. I can't ask you to take the risk, anyhow."

"What risk? What are you talking about, Georg?"

"Of another child, obviously. I have saddled you with Stefan. And after what happened to his mother, how can I ask you …"

"You have not _saddled_ me with Stefan. He is a gift from God, do you understand, after everything I went through as an orphan. And anyway, speaking of letting each other down, you don't have to worry about the _risk_ , as you put it, because-" She wasn't even sure wives were supposed to talk to their husbands about such things, but it was a relief to say it out loud. "I've let you down you, too. I wanted to be the one."

He turned to face her. "Weren't you listening to me? You are the only-"

"No, no, no, that's not what I mean," she said, trying to make it sound like she was laughing even as she felt the tears slide down her cheeks. "I wanted to be the one to give you another child. It's been six months, Georg, don't you realize that? Six months. And as if I needed any proof that I'm the one who can't – who can't make a baby, as though the first seven weren't reminder enough, you went and got yourself a son after one night _. One night_!"

She couldn't pretend to be laughing anymore. But this time, he was beside her, taking her into his arms, holding her close, and at last, she let the flood come, bearing along on its tide six weeks of shock, disappointment, sadness for a young mother and her baby, hurt at being outside the charmed circle that mattered most to her, and over it all, the fear that her beloved Captain was lost to her forever. He held on tight to her, murmuring wordlessly into her hair as she wept her heart out. Finally, with a few last, gasping sobs, she quieted and let him lead her to an armchair and settle her into his lap.

"My God. I had no idea you felt this way. No wonder you were so angry. As though the whole sordid affair wasn't bad enough, I asked you to take on another woman's child when you yearn for your own." He stopped long enough to mop her face with his handkerchief. " Why didn't you tell me you were so worried? "

"I thought you knew. That you were just being kind by not mentioning it," she snuffled.

He gave a little amused huff. "The truth is that I was having too much fun trying to keep track of the results. What makes you think six months is too long?"

She swallowed. "You're the one with all those children, Georg isn't it obvious? Just look at the children's birthdays. It hardly ever took this long for…"

He took her by the chin and forced her to look at him. "Don't do that, Maria. Comparing my marriages. We talked about it in Paris, remember? Don't. If you're so concerned, when you take Stefan to Doctor Strauss tomorrow, ask him. And while you're at it," he said, running a finger across her cheek, "ask him what you need to do to put some weight back on. You look like a ghost."

"Doctor?" she shook her head. "But I'm not sick. I've never been sick a day in my life."

"Well, you ought to be asking him if it's normal, not me. I'm only a sailor, after all. Or leave it in God's hands, if that's what you prefer."

"Why bother?" she faltered. "I don't need a doctor to tell me that I'll never have a child if we don't – . I can't believe you really meant that, did you, Georg? About our not being together?"

"I don't think I can risk it, Maria, after what happened to Stefan's mother. If something happened to you? This time, I wouldn't survive."

She shook her head "That's nonsense. Agathe gave you seven children and to hear you tell it, every single time she was out in the garden the next day. There's something else you're not telling me."

He was silent for a long time before saying, carefully, "Well, _you_ were the one who said you didn't want me anymore. I don't remember much about the night before I left, but I do remember that. You've moved out of my bed. And I understand. You're never going to be able to forget the man I was that night. The same man I was with her. And I'm not going to be able to forget it, either."

She felt the memories of that last awful night creep up on her, and the despair she'd fought off gathered like storm clouds at the edges of her mind.

"Do you know why I was gone so long?" he asked abruptly.

"Because the French made it difficult for you with Stefan, at least that's what I thought," she said.

"Stefan? No," he laughed. "It took 48 hours, and a bribe so small it barely merits the label, for the French to give him to me."

Her face fell. "You didn't want to come home. Because of me."

"No, no. I wanted a chance to get to know the boy before he was swept up by all of the females in this house. And to make it up to him for the way he got started. But-" he paused. "I suppose you're right. In a way. I was a coward. Afraid to come home and face up to my mistakes. It reminded me of having to come home from Vienna every time I had to replace a governess. I suppose that if my children didn't know the truth about me then, they do now."

"Your children already know you're not perfect, Georg, remember? They only want you to love them. We've been through all of that."

"This is much worse than whistles and uniforms," he said gravely. He went on slowly, as though he was working something out for himself.

"When I was younger – your age, I suppose," he said with a mirthless chuckle, "life seemed to go so smoothly. You fell in love with a suitable bride and married her and then the children came along, one each year. You led your men in battle at sea and fought bravely for your country. But now that I'm middle-aged, nothing is the same. The woman I loved died. No number of heroic acts could win the war for my country, which is on the verge of disappearing. My children turned into wild animals for a time. And then, try as I might to resist, I fall in love with a girl, my children's governess, who makes me happier than I ever thought possible. I discover that my disgraceful behavior killed a woman and left a motherless child for me to raise. For so long, all this – this _turmoil_ just infuriated me. But I think I've finally gotten it through my thick head: nothing is going to work the way it's supposed to anymore. The real trick is to do handle it with..." he hesitated. "With honor. That's all the sense I can make of it, anyway."

There was another long, awkward silence until he spoke unsteadily. "I'll be honest with you. I'll be sorry every day of my life for what happened to Aurora. But once I saw the boy? I couldn't regret what happened between us anymore. What I did that night in Paris."

She nodded, but any words seemed stuck in her throat. They were on the edge of something now. He had drawn her close only to comfort her, but she was suddenly aware of _him_ , the way his long fingers traced her neck, the deep rumble of his voice in his chest and the solid feel of his powerful body cradling her.

"I didn't start sleeping there because of how you behaved. I did it because I missed you," she blurted, before she could lose her nerve.

"I didn't miss you," he said carelessly, and her eyes flew to his face to find a gentle smile there. "Because I was back in Paris, and you were in my thoughts constantly. There were moments when I could practically feel you clinging to my arm. Hounding me to translate everything. Buying half of Paris for the children."

"Georg. About what you said. Your not being able to forget. My not being able to, either. Maybe we could…"

"Could?"

"Could help each other. Forget."

She felt him take a deep breath before he responded.

"Does that mean you'll have me, Fraulein?"

She brought her face to his, and smiled against his mouth.

"Yes, Captain. I'll have you."

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **I've loved your thoughtful reviews and PMs, so keep them coming. Don't own anything, all for love, etc. No, this isn't the end.**


	5. Chapter 5: Epilogue

**Epilogue: One Year Later, Vermont USA**

"Admit it, Georg. You were wrong."

"I'm never wrong," he huffed, but there was a smile on his face as he reached for the picnic basket. "Is there any more of that cake?"

"First the apology, then cake," she admonished him.

"All right, all right. It _was_ a good idea, to spend a day on the mountain like this, all of us together. Even if the chores are piling up, along with the bills."

Maria watched him dig through the basket until, with a triumphant flourish, he unearthed the last piece of cake.

"I can see it on your face, Georg. You haven't looked this relaxed in months. I know there's a lot of work to do back on the farm, and I haven't been much help lately. But we needed a day off to be a family again. We've all been working so hard for so long, and the children especially deserve a treat. A day to enjoy being children, after everything they've been through. If we waited until all the chores were done and the bills were paid to give them a treat, well – you know what they say about farm work never ending."

"All true, I suppose. Though as for carrying the load, I'd say you've worked harder than anyone," he disagreed, licking the last few cake crumbs from his thumb.

Maria looked down at the pink-and-white lump that lay curled against her chest, sleeping peacefully. "Acquiring the ninth one did take a little more effort on my part, it's true," she laughed, and then paused to kiss the top of her daughter's fuzzy head, inhaling her new-baby smell.

A year ago, Maria had believed marriage and motherhood would be her safe destination, the end of a long and difficult journey. The events of the last year had shown her that, instead, there was no end to the changes life could bring, no destination where the road permanently straightened and smoothed out. The fearful turmoil of their flight from Austria, the long journey to their new lives in America, and a difficult pregnancy all along the way had taught her that. She still savored the occasional blissfully ordinary day when it came. But Maria had learned that life's true blessing was the bonds woven between husband and wife, and with their children, bonds that grew stronger every day.

"You were right about something else, too," he declared. He paused to take a long look around them, at the tree-covered mountains reaching toward the brilliant blue sky. "I miss Austria terribly. But it is beautiful, here in Vermont. Peaceful. It was a good decision to come here, after all."

She followed his gaze down the steep slope that lay before them. At the bottom of the hill, a stony brook rushed its way toward a deep valley. The older children wielded fishing poles, while the youngest ones tossed a ball around. Stefan was in constant motion, weaving back and forth from one group to the other. Time after time, he came perilously close to tumbling into the brook, only to be rescued by one or another of his older siblings who would grab him around the waist and set him at a secure, but temporary, distance from the water.

"Are you sure he's safe down there?" Maria asked nervously. " Perhaps he ought to be up here with us. We've got to be getting back soon anyway."

"Oh, he'll be all right," Georg reassured her, but after she sent him a pleading look, he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "Stefan! Viens ici!"

Instantly, the boy's face lit up. He changed course and began toiling his way up the steep hill, his plump legs churning industriously in between brief stops to examine a stray bug or interesting blade of grass. Stefan had grown taller and sturdier than the boy who had arrived at the villa a year ago, Maria reflected, but one thing hadn't changed: he was his father's son, completely in thrall to his Papa, and the feeling was clearly mutual.

"Georg? Why do you do that?"

"Hm? Do what, darling?"

"Speak French to Stefan. He was chattering away in German within weeks of coming to Austria. And his English is much better than mine."

"Oh. That." Georg said slowly. "You're going to hate me for this."

"Go ahead," she said warily.

"It's because of his mother. I mean, you are his mother, but I am talking about Aurora. Aurora Duchamps," he repeated, although Maria needed no reminder of who he meant. She'd thought of the opera singer often this past year. "Someday, Maria, he's going to figure it all out, and I just thought that-"

"There's nothing for him to figure out!" she interrupted. "We agreed we'd be honest with him from the start. Just like his brothers and sisters, he has his mother in heaven who gave him life, and me, his mother here on earth."

"Maria. He's going to see that it's _not_ the same. Most of the children remember Agathe. They talk about her all the time. Even Gretl and Marta can understand something about her. And don't think I don't know I have you to thank for that," he paused to send a grateful smile her way. "You were the one who reminded Louisa to slip that picture into her backpack the night we left. You're the one who taught them her favorite songs. While Aurora…"

He looked down at the ground. "He's going to ask us and the truth is, I know almost nothing about her. Her birthday. Her favorite song. The color of her eyes, for God's sake. And when he realizes _that_ , then someday when he's grown, he's going to figure out the rest of the sordid truth. I won't lie to him. By then, if this infernal war ever ends, I'll be able to take him back to Paris and we can find out more. But for now, a few words of French – it's the only thing of hers I can think of to give him. Please try to understand."

"I understand," Maria whispered, blinking back tears and holding her daughter close. "I understand that you've done what you promised to do."

He looked up at her, a question on his face.

"Honor. You said that you would face your troubles with honor rather than anger. In the last year, you've lost so much, Georg. Your home, your wealth, your title. Your country. You're a poor farmer in a strange land. And the most honorable man on earth."

There was a long silence between them, filled only with the sound of a gentle breeze ruffling the trees, the tumbling brook, and the cries of their children.

"I have you to thank for that," he said quietly. "For all of it."

Before any more could be said, Stefan's head popped into sight as he neared the end of his long climb up the hill. "We ought to be going," Georg said regretfully.

He called to the other children and then, as Maria stood holding their daughter, he packed up blankets and baskets. She turned to watch the children at the bottom of the hill as they gathered their belongings and began their upward climb: Liesl hand-in-hand with Marta; Kurt and Brigitta hauling the fishing gear; Friedrich carrying Gretl on his back; Louisa bringing up the rear, a ball tucked under her arm.

Maria turned back toward her husband, watching as he scooped Stefan into his arms and flung the boy, shrieking with glee, over his shoulder. And then Georg von Trapp led his family back toward home.

 **THE END**

 **Thank you for leaving me so many thoughtful reviews! I hope you liked my story. I don't own anything about the Sound of Music but am so grateful for the inspiration it provides. Hats off to the midnight PM-er who told me to write this! I'll be back soon with something new and interesting.**


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